


Wait It Out, Pass It Up

by nat_cat



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Desperation, Emotional Sex, Explicit Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Dubious Consent, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Pseudo-Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-15
Updated: 2019-03-15
Packaged: 2019-11-15 04:11:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18066350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nat_cat/pseuds/nat_cat
Summary: "So our doppelgangers did some really horrible things. Get over it.""You’re the one who was upset in the first place!"Porn with plot as a pretence for feelings: Life sucks when you know exactly what your evil alternate universe selves get up to.(The working title for this was "fuck me up" and the less said about that the better.)





	Wait It Out, Pass It Up

**Author's Note:**

> Set in an extremely vague AU where the siblings take turns using the suitcase to travel to alternate realities in the hopes of finding anything that'll help them with Vanya. The apocalypse probably didn't happen? It's _hand wave_ whatever.
> 
> An actual, literal ocean of thanks to [duck](https://archiveofourown.org/users/duckmoles), who beta'ed and listened to me whine about this for, oh, two weeks, give or take. This would very definitely not have seen the light of day if it hadn't been for you telling me to yeet my heart out. At least 3k of this are there purely because of you! Thank you for your indulgence, reassurance, and advice <3

They get chewed up and spat out onto the sofa in the lounge with such force they fall over backwards, furniture and all. The suitcase goes flying, and Klaus hits his head on the floor with a painful _thud_ that keeps echoing around his skull. He tries to blink away the double vision, can see energy coming off them like smoke, slowly fizzling out. It looks like a heat mirage on hot summer days, and it feels just like a bad sunburn; his skin is aching and too tight all over. 

For a few comforting moments, there is nothing: nothing he wants, or knows. Nothing he needs to do, except breathe and hurt. That’s the easy part.

But of course Diego, devoid of even the most basic common decency, is already moving, sitting up, rolling Klaus over. Klaus pushes his hands away, weakly at first, then more insistently, slaps at his brother to make him-

“Get off me!” 

It doesn’t work: Diego never knows when to stop.

They scuffle, but it doesn’t take very long. Diego’s too good and Klaus too tired to put up an actual fight for longer than it takes to get his arms pinned down. Klaus knees Diego in the ribs vindictively, but he barely flinches. He just makes Klaus look up at him with both hands on his face. His eyes are determined behind the domino mask, but his expression gives nothing away. He hasn’t said a single word yet, and he’s staring, and for a moment Klaus thinks-

But Diego is only looking him over for injuries, that’s all. He pulls Klaus’ eyelids up, checks his pupils, first right, then left, makes sure there is no blood at the back of his skull. That’s it. 

“Just- get off,” Klaus says, quieter this time.

“You’re bleeding,” Diego says, presses his thumb into Klaus’ forehead just over his brow. “This might need stitches.”

“Fuck off.”

“Okay,” Diego relents, rolls off him with a huff. He’s hurt, too.

Klaus sits up and is suddenly blinded by the sun glancing off something in the glass cabinet behind the bar: it’s a bottle of tequila, like some sort of perverse divine sign, as if God herself is personally pointing at it from above, telling him, _there you go, Klaus, this is for you, I might not like you, but even you don’t deserve this_.

The bottle is the only thing that matters, suddenly, the only thing that’ll make this better. There is nothing left in the house except alcohol and morphine, and he’ll re-live the apocalypse a thousand times over before he goes back to that. He promised.

It takes almost too much effort, but Klaus gets to his feet, barely registering the tinkling sounds of glass shards falling off him. The house must be empty, or else someone would have come running by now. Diego’s getting up, too, but that isn’t important. Blood is getting into his eye, but that’s not important, either.

He reaches the bar, puts his hand on the cool marble. It’s easier to walk around to the cabinet if he leans on the counter. He’s looking for the shot glasses, looking for- something, _any_ thing, ignores Diego saying his name. He pours and downs two shots in quick succession; the liquid burns, but it feels good, too. It feels familiar, and the thought is so soothing that for a horrible moment he thinks he’ll cry from the relief of it.

His head is pounding, he’s hurting, he- he has more tequila, to ease the pain, or to- he just needs-

Something stronger. Not _that_ , but something stronger than tequila. _Absinth_ , he thinks. _Absinth might make this better_.

There is none to be found. He drops a bottle of whiskey on accident, probably, and it shatters. Then he drops a crystal tumbler, because he’s shaking, and then he throws another tumbler at the wall, and it explodes into a thousand little glittering drops. There are no drugs in the house, either, he _knows_ there aren’t, and the morphine is locked up tighter than-

“Klaus,” Diego says, loudly, and he must have been saying it for a while now. He’s right there next to Klaus, and Klaus is only noticing now. “Stop."

“You can’t tell me what to do,” he snaps, knee-jerk and childish.

Diego huffs, then appears to steel himself. “Do you maybe want…to talk about it?”

And that’s so ridiculous and stupid that he tries to throw another glass, but Diego’s hand around his wrist stops him.

For less than even a second, Klaus thinks that it feels good, because the touch is warm and anchoring, and then he realizes what he’s thinking, and all of it is abruptly just too much.

“Do I want to talk about how we just came back from an alternate reality where everyone is an evil twin version of themselves- where we _hate_ each other- where you _killed Luther_ -

“After he killed Vanya,” Diego injects, like it’s a _technicality_.

“Where _Luther killed Vanya_. Where I can barely stand the sight of anyone with a heartbeat- where- where-”

“Where we keep ending up fucking?”

Klaus laughs, but it’s desperate, almost hysterical. “Yes! _Yes!_ If you want to call it that! We barely got out alive! And you- _you-_ ” he pokes Diego in the chest, “-are asking me if I want to talk about it? If you think I’m spending another minute sober-”

“Okay-” Diego takes the tequila from him “-yeah, alright.”

Klaus reaches around him blindly for another bottle, gets the good cognac by chance. Diego takes that from him as well and deposits it on the counter all nonchalant, like this is not a crisis, like he’s not going out of his mind right now, like he _didn’t see_ what _Klaus saw_ , like it _doesn’t matter_ -

He should go. He has to, or he won’t be held responsible for what he does next. _Ben_ , he thinks wildly, he has to find Ben, to see if he’s still even here. Maybe this timeline somehow got fucked up, along with everything else. Or maybe he needs to eat something, maybe some waffles, maybe he should see where mom is- _fuck_ , they have to find the rest of their siblings, tell them- well, tell them _something_ , see if they’re alright, if they’re even here and now-

Most importantly, he has to get away from Diego. _You can do this_ , he thinks, _you have done things that were harder._ It will be okay. Tomorrow, this will just be another bullet point on his list of Fucked Up Things That Happened to Me, and it will definitely not even rank in the top ten.

He’s jerked out of his thoughts by Diego saying his name. “Come upstairs with me, let me get a better look at that cut, come on.”

 _This is so stupid_ , he thinks, _this is so stupid_.

But he goes, up the stairs and down the quiet hallway. All the doors are open; no one’s home. Their footsteps echo strangely, in a way Klaus doesn’t remember from his childhood. In one of the bathrooms, he lets Diego sit him down on the edge of the porcelain bathtub and cleans his face with a towel Diego wets for him. Diego takes off his heavy gear: the belt and the knife holsters, drops them to the floor carelessly, then steps up to the sink. Klaus watches him in the mirror, but Diego’s eyes skip over him, and then he’s sticking his entire head under the tap. He stays like that for what seems like a long time, and doesn’t even pretend to gasp for breath when he comes back up.

Klaus used to get so worried, when they were children, back when it was still normal to take baths together; and then later he got jealous, because Diego didn’t even seem to like the water that much, not like Klaus did. It was unfair he got to spend so much time in it, while Klaus’ and everyone else’s showers were restricted to military standards: “half a minute to get wet, lather without running water, two minutes to rinse.” Baths were a Sundays-only occasion, except for Diego, who went and got pruny every day for _training_ and had yet to find a limit to how long he could hold his breath.

Diego spills the content of the first aid kit over the counter, pours disinfectant onto a piece of gauze. As Klaus watches him do it, he becomes aware of its purpose: Diego is going to want him to press it to his head wound, and it’s going to sting like a motherfucker. 

But instead of handing over the gauze, Diego tells him to hold still and dabs at the cut himself. It does sting like a-

“Mother _fucker_!”

“I said hold still,” Diego admonishes when Klaus keeps flinching away. He grabs him by the back of the neck, none too gently, pulls him in. “Fuck. I think we can get away with butterfly stitches.”

“Am I going to look like you?” Klaus asks him, unthinking.

Diego’s face closes off immediately. He presses his lips together and determinedly doesn’t look Klaus in the eyes, and that wasn't what he-

“I meant roguishly handsome, for the record.”

“Just hold still and shut up."

“That bothers you?” Klaus asks instead, because he doesn’t know when to leave well enough alone, either.

Diego huffs, like Klaus is being very inconvenient right now, but he does stop with the stupid burning disinfectant. “Sometimes.” He looks at the cut critically. “No, not really. It was just the way you said it.” Then, brusquely, as if to make up for being so candid, he goes on, “That’ll do. Hand me the stitches?”

Klaus diligently peels off one steri-strip after the other for him. Diego's hands are rough, but he's good at this, efficient, and it's all fading into dull aches anyway.

"Do you usually stitch yourself up?"

"Yep. Let me concentrate."

"How does that work with your needle thing?"

Diego scowls immediately. "It's not all needles. Just injections, or giving blood. Shots, that sort of thing. Strip?"

Klaus dutifully hands him another. Diego places it carefully, then smoothes his thumb over the area. He looks lost in thought for a moment, like the cut over Klaus’ eyebrow is somehow puzzling.

"You have glass in your hair."

"Okay."

"I think you might be in shock."

"Okay. What do I do?"

"You wash it out, head upside-down over the tub. _Carefully_. Do _not_ scrub through your hair."

Klaus thinks maybe Diego will do this for him, too, but he doesn't. Instead, he strips off his shirt and washes over the sink, and then Klaus realizes he's supposed to be doing something that is not staring, so he gets on that.

It feels like he’s looking at the bottom of the tub for a long time. He put the water on hot, and that’s nice, even if he’s getting light-headed and his thighs are straining from kneeling bent over like that. He can smell disinfectant, hears Diego fussing around, occasionally swearing under his breath.

“I think you’re good now,” Diego tells him finally. “But you better be careful with the towel.”

He’s careful with the towel. They end up sitting next to each other with their backs leaning uncomfortably against the bathtub. Diego’s arm is all bandaged up, and there’s blood already soaking through, and he hasn’t even bothered with his knuckles. Klaus doesn’t know what to do or think, wishes he could sleep, or leave. That they had never seen-

“Which part fucked you up so bad?” Diego asks.

His voice is steady, but he’s not looking at Klaus. He’s fiddling with a butterfly knife instead, flipping it open and closed, open and closed, letting it spin on his palm in a move he’s called 'The Karate Kid' ever since they were twelve. One part of the handle flies out like a roundhouse kick, over and over again. He’s seen Diego do this, oh, a million times, easy. Maybe it’s the gut wrenching familiarity of it, but it transports Klaus right back to being a kid in this miserable house. _We used to be friends_ , he thinks, almost says it, swallows it down.

“I don’t know. Everything,” he says instead. That topic might almost be easier. “It wasn’t that everything had gone bad, you know? It’s not like- yes, everything went wrong, but it was us. _We_ were wrong. We were awful. It was awful.”

“That could never be us, though,” Diego says. He’s rubbing over his knuckles, making them bleed again, still not looking at Klaus. “We wouldn’t- I would _never_ -”

And Klaus laughs again, and hates himself for it a little. “Never _what_ , Diego? Kill some innocent bystanders? Gut your own brother? Fuck me? One of those is not like the others. Which one is it that got your panties in a bunch?”

“I’m sorry,” Diego says immediately, the words out of his mouth like bullets. “I swear I would never do that to you.”

“I’m curious,” Klaus says, but the truth is that he’s probably just masochistic, or cruel, or possibly both. “What about that freaked you out so much? Is it the incest, because I got news for you, Allison and Luther aren’t-”

“It’s not that,” Diego interrupts. He’s a little red in the face. “Allison and Luther can do what they want, I guess.”

It’s silent for a bit. Diego’s frustrated now, rubs through his hair, throws a blade so it curves around like a boomerang and flies right back into his hand. Diego can’t hold anything in, never could. If he doesn’t want to say something, he leaves, because even Diego himself knows he has a temper and can’t keep his mouth shut. Klaus gets more comfortable, stretches his legs out. This probably won’t take long.

“It felt really bad, is all. That other me, he _hated_ you. I don’t think he even really wanted you. He just wanted to hurt you.”

“Oh,” says Klaus, because this definitely isn’t what he expected. He was bracing himself for aggressive assertions of heterosexuality. Klaus has sat through one or two or seven variations of the _But-I’m-Not-Gay_ rant before, with guys who suddenly sobered up, or remembered their wives, or were just scared. But that’s not what Diego is saying, and if that isn’t startlingly interesting. “It wasn’t, what, romantic enough for you?”

Diego lets out a strangled sound, like he was almost going to laugh, and presses the heels of his hands to his eyes for a moment. “Is everything a joke to you?”

“Humor is a valid coping mechanism.” Diego huffs, fed up and frustrated. Klaus thinks it’s almost funny, how the Diego he knew as a kid - hell, even the Diego from half a year ago - would have walked out or decked him several times over by now; but when he thinks about it too much, it just makes him sad. “I was actually asking, you know.”

Diego glares at him, suspicious, like he’s thinking Klaus is setting him up for a punchline. When he finally spits it out, he sounds terse. “I just didn’t think you could feel that way while you were with someone. That _I_ could feel that way.”

“What, you never had a one night stand before? Got with an ex for a night of violent passion? Never had hate-sex?" 

“This was different,” Diego insists.

“Obviously. Your ex usually isn’t your brother.”

“You’re a dick. What, you’re saying it doesn’t bother you? Pull the other one.”

“It was…scary. But also kinda good? If you’re into that? Definitely not SSC, but-” Diego is looking at him like he grew a second head. “What? It was! The other you was skilled with his-”

“He also kept choking you out!” Diego yells, and there it is. “You have no idea-”

“I have _some_ idea,” Klaus interrupts him. “I was there, too.” Diego glares at him, really mad now, but trying to rein it in. It _had_ been good, in a really fucked up way. “So our doppelgangers did some really horrible things. Get over it.”

“You’re the one who was upset in the first place,” Diego says, sullenly. Then something in his demeanour shifts, like he suddenly knows something Klaus doesn’t. “You’re _deflecting_ ,” he says, triumphantly, like it’s a magic word. He elbows Klaus in the ribs, not too hard, something he used to do all the time, because they always sat next to each other, at dinner, during training. When they snuck out for doughnuts, all like ducks in a row.

“Did you learn that at therapy?”

Sadly, Diego is a dog that will learn new tricks. “My therapist says _Empathy, Patience, and Forgiveness_.” He looks rather rakish with the way he’s grinning. “She also says you’re full of shit.”

That’s so disarmingly charming that Klaus feels himself relent all at once, like a pressure valve suddenly opening. He sighs. “It really sucked, is all. I’ve killed people before, but that was different, that was during a literal war. What that other me did, that was just murder.” Klaus’ shirt is soaked around the shoulders from his wet hair. He’s cold. “He just didn’t care. About anything. He wasn’t even high, he just- didn’t give a fuck. I think he liked you though.” He chances a glance at Diego, but Diego is staring at the tiles between his knees intently. “I mean, he hated you, man. You really riled him up- that other you. But at the same time, that was the only way to feel anything.”

“That’s fucked up.”

“Yup.” He drags the word out and pops the _p._ “You gonna tell your therapist about it?”

“You gonna tell your support group?”

“You gonna have a Big Gay Crisis?”

“I didn’t before. When you told me about- Dave.”

“You know what I mean,” Klaus says irritably.

“Aw, fuck,” Diego says. He’s fidgeting again, adjusting the bandage clip. “I don’t know. It’s whatever. I’m more upset about all the other stuff, you know?”

“The murdering and maiming and fratricide?”

“Yeah, that.”

Klaus lets his head fall back against the tub. There is a water stain that looks like a cowboy hat on the ceiling. “I can’t believe we went through all this and learned nothing useful.”

“Oh, I think we’re all learning _some_ things here. He should really get that looked at.”

And that’s- that’s Ben, leaning against the tiled wall like it’s nothing. With everything else that has happened today, Klaus didn’t think he had space for another emotion, but he’s almost laughably relieved to see his brother. He misses what Diego says next because he’s stuck staring at Ben, who’s gesturing at where Diego is bleeding through the bandages.

“Hey, are you listening?” Diego asks. He’s still fidgeting with the clip; it slips and he struggles to fasten it with his left hand. “Is your head-”

“Oh my god,” Klaus interrupts whatever doubtlessly asinine thing his brother is about to say. “Just let me do it.”

“What- no, what-”

“Give it here. Ben says you’re an idiot.”

“I did _not_ ,” Ben scowls, at the same time as Diego says, "He did _not_!”

“I mean, he totally is, though,” Ben concedes. "I don't know why tried to say he wasn’t. Look at all his scars. When did he get a nipple piercing?”

“I know, right?”

“What is he saying?”

“That you’re a dumbass.”

“Don’t antagonize him,” Ben says mildly.

“I’ll do as I please.”

“I can see that,” Diego cuts in, and indeed, Klaus is already unwrapping the bandages around his biceps.

“Why are you like this?” Klaus asks him once he gets a look at the wound. “God, this might _actually_ need stitches!”

“It’s fine,” Diego protests, but as has been established, he’s an idiot, and so Klaus doesn’t have to listen to him.

“It’s really not,” Ben says.

“Ben’s really happy you’re gonna join him in the afterlife due to your imminent blood-loss related death.”

“It’s _fine_! Just slap on some band-aids, if you have to.”

“Maybe I _will_.”

“ _Good._ ”

“Oh my god,” Ben says and, throwing his hands up, he vanishes.

“Is Ben okay?” Diego asks finally, after they’ve both sulked for a suitable amount of time.

“What? Yeah. Sure. He left though. It’s probably your face.”

Klaus waves a hand in the general direction of the ceiling, too preoccupied with reading the back of the package of butterfly stitches carefully. He will _not_ ‘just slap on some band-aids’, because he is a _professional_. He doesn’t even react when Diego rolls his eyes at him so loudly he can actually hear it. The gash is long and looks angry, and it’s still bleeding sluggishly so it’ll take a while. Klaus tries to be gentle.

“How do you keep doing this to yourself?”

“Technically, Luther did this to me,” Diego says. He sounds bored, like it’s just an idle observation.

“It wasn’t really him,” Klaus says distractedly. He’s not squeamish, but looking at the wound for so long, Diego holding it closed while he peels off the strips, it makes him a little queasy. Diego’s other hand is around his arm, just holding on.

“It could have been,” Diego says, quietly.

Klaus looks up, surprised. “Now you’re really being stupid. You said it yourself, that could never be us.” 

“But it almost was. At the funeral-” 

“Bullshit,” Klaus cuts him off, because whatever Diego is thinking, it is wrong, and also _stupid_. “It would have never gone that far. Never. You know that.” Diego has nothing to say to that, or doesn’t know what to say to that. He’s clearly gearing up for something though, and Klaus is pretty sure he doesn’t want to hear it. He carefully picks up the roll of bandages and very slowly wraps Diego’s arm. Diego lets him. His skin feels very warm, almost like he’s running a fever. Klaus secures the bandage, satisfied that it looks a lot neater than what Diego did for himself. “Let me do your knuckles after.”

“They don’t need it,” Diego says, dismissive, and it’s obvious now he’s about to do something rash, to break something, to say something that-

“Just let me-”

“Klaus.” And the thing is, Diego never says his name like that. Like he doesn’t want to say what he’s about to. Like he knows it’ll hurt them. Klaus goes still, hands on Diego’s arms, eyes cast down, bracing himself. “Klaus,” Diego says again, quietly, almost intimate. “I don’t think you know what I’m capable of.” 

 _But-_ , Klaus thinks, looks him in the face. “You’re my brother.”

And then Diego’s kissing him, everything happening faster than it should, like they skipped a few seconds: one moment they’re sitting on the bathroom floor, heads close together, talking, and the next, Diego’s mouth is on his, and Klaus knows with devastating certainty that no high in the world will ever let him forget what it feels like to kiss his brother.

He gasps, pulls back, but Diego’s there, chasing him, hands on his neck, his mouth seeking. Klaus does nothing, can’t, breathes into it, leans into it, can’t-

“Diego-”

They can’t _do_ this, especially not now, not like this- but he doesn’t want to let Diego go, doesn’t know how; if he could just think for a second, for just one- he turns his face away, eyes closed, and feels Diego’s lips slide over his cheek, feather soft, hot, making him shiver. He’s pulling at Diego’s hair, he realizes, tries to make himself let go, tries to breathe; gasps when he feels Diego’s teeth on his neck.

“Please,” Diego finally says, directly into the hollow of Klaus’ throat, wet and pleading like he means it.

Klaus doesn’t know what to do, what to say, what will make this right. Maybe nothing can. They can’t take it back now, not even with time travel. This Diego will always have kissed this Klaus on the bathroom floor, both of them bleeding and hurting.

Diego’s panting, face pressed to Klaus’ skin, hands hard around his arms. He sounds wounded almost, this little noise slipping out of him, like he’s scared, makes to pull away. And maybe if he hadn’t, Klaus would have had the strength to let him go.

“Aw, fuck,” he says instead, turning Diego’s face up so he can kiss him, slow and steady this time. “It’s okay,” he mutters, nonsensically, brushes his fingers through his hair, gentle like, “it’s alright, you’re okay.”

They keep kissing, like maybe that’s all it’ll be, just touching each other. Diego’s hands are warm on his back, fingers digging in along his spine, and that feels so- but then he stops, and Klaus whines into his mouth, dismayed. He feels Diego smile, but he does go back to rubbing his back, slips his hands under his shirt all sly, like they’re teenagers doing something exciting and forbidden. He keeps doing it, too, pulling away and making Klaus chase him, winding him up. He kisses him deeply, then slows them down, until it’s just their lips brushing lightly, until Klaus has to lean in and seek him out, feeling like he’ll plead for it. It’s teasing, almost like Diego’s making fun of him, and it should be irritating as hell, but it just makes him want it more.

“Diego,” he bites out, “fuck, stop.” Diego pulls away slightly, and it’s- _god_ , the way Diego looks at him, his lips parted and shining, the look in his eyes. They’re a dark brown, black almost in this light. He’s beautiful. When Klaus only stares, Diego shifts, moves his hands higher up over his back, slowly. It feels good.

“Stop?” he asks, voice low.

“Either get me off or get me to a bed, please, I’m-”

And maybe that was what Diego was waiting for, because he kisses him, hard and fast finally, before he breaks away, tells him _yeah, yeah okay_ , hoarse and breathless.

It’s cold without him there, but Diego offers his hand and pulls him up, palm to palm. Diego’s bedroom is closest, just across the hallway. Klaus locks the door behind them, turns to find Diego closer than he thought. He lets himself be crowded up against the door, lets himself be kissed. It’s slower now, like they have time.

Like Diego wants to take his time.

Klaus gets his hands on Diego’s back, strokes up and down, turned on by the feeling of muscles moving under his touch. Diego is _so_ pretty, with his dark skin and scars. Klaus traces them over his back, starburst patterns and long uneven lines; he cups Diego’s shoulder blades, slips his hands over his ribs, down the valley of his spine. Diego hums into his mouth, a content sound, and Klaus really wants to fuck him, or do this forever, just stay like this and kiss, whichever. Diego keeps pushing up his shirt until they finally get it off him, then tucks his hands into the front of Klaus’ pants and tugs him forwards, fast, so they can press their hips together. Klaus is rubbing up against him almost instantly, fumbles with the button. Diego’s hands are on his ass, kneading, and then he’s spinning them around, pushing Klaus into the room. They lose their shoes on the way, stumbling and grabbing at each other, Diego stirring them to the bed.

It’s his childhood bed, narrow and not long enough for two grown men, probably, but they’ll make do. The sheets smell fresh, and like Diego, and Diego is right there, caging him in between his arms. Klaus looks at him, wonders what he’ll do. What _they’ll_ do, now that they’re here. He wants to touch Diego, slow and gentle, so he brushes his knuckles over his cheek, makes like he’s tucking hair behind his ear even though Diego’s hair is too short, of course. Diego looks shy suddenly, ducks his head. He looks nothing like that other Diego, who’d grit his teeth the entire time, who’d been mindless and disregardful with him.

“See? It’s nothing like that,” Klaus says into the quiet. “It’s nothing like what they had.”

Diego hides his face then, bends to push it into Klaus’ shoulder, to nuzzle at his neck, holds their bodies apart. Klaus has to reach for him, to touch, puts his hands on his shoulders and rubs, scratches the back of his neck with his nails, softly, trying for comfort.

“You’re nothing like that,” Klaus whispers. Diego makes a quiet sound into his skin, and he can’t help it. “Look at you, you’re so sweet. You’re being so good,” he says, because it’s true.

Diego shudders, goes down on his elbows, the movement of his body sinuous, pressing their chests together. Klaus can feel his cold piercing. He spreads his legs more, accommodating, shifts his hips. Diego’s mouth is so hot, moving over Klaus’ chest, his stubble rough, one hand working between their bodies to get at their pants. Klaus helps, gets his own zipper down and then undoes Diego’s too, pushes the leather pants halfway down over his ass.

He thinks about how they must look together, the long stripe of exposed skin all down his own leg, where his pants are tied together, and Diego’s bulk over him. He wishes he could see Diego’s back, has an image in his head suddenly, of his own hands, sliding down from Diego’s brown shoulders, and does it. He keeps the touch featherlight and sensual, wrapped up in fantasies- until Diego bites him, a nip that gets only skin, the pain sharp and sudden. Klaus flinches, grabs Diego by the hair to pull him off, but Diego makes this sound, almost a whimper, then licks it better. He keeps biting over Klaus’ chest, quick little things, leaving his skin red. Klaus keeps pulling his hair, rocks their hips together, half because he can’t keep from trying to twist away, half because it feels so good.

“Fuck, Diego,” he pants, so gone on it.

“Good?” Diego asks, mouth still on his skin, looking up with hooded eyes.

Klaus strokes through his hair, tries and fails to catch his breath. “Yeah. Good, it’s good, you’re-”

He breaks off on a moan, because Diego is moving down, tongue dipping into his belly button lightly. He’s tugging down Klaus’ pants, gets them off, brushes his hands up Klaus’ legs. He looks incredible, kneeling over Klaus, his leather pants undone, sliding low.

“You do like to be hurt,” he says, offhanded, like it doesn’t matter what Klaus will have to say to that.

“No,” Klaus says.

Diego ducks his head, breathes hotly into the bend of Klaus’ neck, and suddenly he’s holding his throat in his hand; just that, his thumb brushing up against Klaus’ jaw. He feels his breath hitch, knows Diego can feel it, too.

“Yeah,” Diego says. “I think you do.” He doesn’t squeeze. “Tell me to stop.”

Diego moves back down, grabs at him, holds him by the hips. He puts his mouth to Klaus’ hipbone, on the right side, bites down slowly, steadily, until it hurts. He doesn’t stop when Klaus tilts his hips back to get away, pushes his heel into Diego’s back. Klaus looks down, almost disbelieving, sees Diego’s white teeth before he seals his lips over the skin and starts to suck. It feels good, and it hurts, and then he’s closing his eyes and moaning, trying to squirm away. His nails bite into Diego’s shoulders, and when he thinks he can’t take it anymore, Diego lets up, just as slowly, and brushes a hand against Klaus’ dick almost casually.

“Please,” Klaus chokes out. “Oh my god, Diego-”

Diego pushes his thumb into the mark he left; it’s bruised already, aching and radiating heat. He’s staring, contemplative, keeps rubbing the spot, then glances at Klaus as he moves to the other side, lips skimming over the skin.

“Tell me to stop,” he says again, but his voice is rough now, almost dangerous.

Diego waits until Klaus swallows and tugs at his hair, just slightly, encouraging. The anticipation is almost as thrilling as the feeling itself. When Diego bites him, slow again, he tries to twitch away from Diego’s mouth almost instantly, tries to buck up into his hand, tenses his thighs reflexively, uselessly. It hurts; it hurts really good, almost like wanting it to stop is the best thing about it. Diego keeps looking up at Klaus, keeps touching him, is finally stroking his dick. He wants the heat of his mouth there, too, feels needy for it, and it gets all mixed up with the pain.

When it gets too much he’s gasping, breathless and aching. He feels a tear slip over his temple. “Fuck, oh fuck,” he says, or maybe he just thinks it, “please, _ah_. I can’t-”

Diego releases him slowly, keeps licking, and that hurts now too, his skin too sensitive. He does look dangerous this way, like he could do anything. His eyes are shining, reflecting a pinprick of light in the dim room. Klaus touches his hair, brushes his fingers over his scar. Diego tilts his head into it, quietly, and it makes something inside Klaus ache and tighten, inexplicable and irrevocable.

“Come back up here.”

And Diego does, but first he kisses the two marks he left, the touch soft, barely there, and wiggles out of his pants, _finally_. Klaus slips his arm around him, brushes his thumb over Diego’s pierced nipple, just lightly, hums a little at the warmth of him. He skates his lips over his shoulder and up his neck, leaves goosebumps in his wake. Maybe this is the way to crack him right open, this slow push and pull between hurt and tenderness.

Diego is so quiet, just breathing, turning his face away like he wants to give Klaus more skin to touch. Klaus can’t get a hold of him, can’t reconcile the sheer strength of him, the confidence - how comfortable Diego feels in his body - with the way he bites his lip now. He can’t reconcile the _other_ Diego with this one, either.

“What do you want?” Diego asks him, voice quiet, their mouths almost touching.

God, what does he want- what _doesn’t_ he want? He wants to come, he wants Diego’s dick. They’re both so hard. He wants his hot mouth, wants his hands bruising him up. He wants-

“Anything,” he manages, “anything, can we- Diego, _please._ ”

It’s the _please_ that does it, making something unspool in him, like he lets something go, all at once. He crowds all up against Klaus, urgent now, _finally_ , presses against him all the way, and Klaus has nowhere to go and doesn’t want to, anyway. Diego is all heat, leaning in, leading with his mouth wet and warm, and there’s nothing slow about it. Everything ramps up, zero to a hundred immediately, Diego on him like an unstoppable force. Klaus barely knows how to feel it all, their dicks pressing together and Diego kissing him, open mouthed and hungry, like if he can’t have Klaus _right_ _now_ he’ll die.

“Fuck,” he manages, in between kisses, holds on to Diego, grips his shoulder, pushes the other hand through his hair. He moans, pulls Diego in closer, kisses him deeper. It’s like a fast spreading forest fire, being touched by Diego, like shooting up, an immediate high, the swooping feeling in his stomach like he’s in free-fall, the heady rush of arousal. _Is it always like this_ , he wants to ask, _Is it like this with everyone for you_ , but Diego is sucking a hickey into the sensitive skin over his collar bone, moaning like _he’s_ the one about to come in his pants, and Klaus loses the train of thought. He doesn’t know what they’re doing, why they’re still not getting off-

“Diego,” he whines, moans, pushes his hips up for some friction, for any relief at all.

“Yeah,” Diego says, and they can’t quite manage to stop kissing, so he stretches to rummage through the nightstand blindly.

Klaus helps him with the lube, uncaps it, both of them fumbling, then finally, Diego slips his slick hand down between them. He pulls them both out of their underwear, takes Klaus in hand, _finally_ , starts jerking him off. Klaus doesn’t want to draw this out anymore, doesn’t think he could if he tried, moans, bucks his hips up desperately, so hot for it, wanting it bad now. He just keeps moaning, has to break away from Diego’s mouth, and then- they look down, foreheads pressed together, watch as Diego fits his hand around both of them. It’s the hottest thing he’s ever seen, his own lean body, pale, the bruises on his hips, and above him, Diego, brown and gorgeous, his abs working, the way his muscles tense. And their dicks together, pushing through the tight circle of Diego’s hand, everything hot and slick.

“Fuck,” he groans, straining, “fuck, you’re gonna make me come, _Diego_.”

And Diego- Diego goes _oh_ , this small, surprised sound, like he didn’t know, like he isn’t making Klaus feel like this- He stops then, instead takes Klaus into his hand alone, adjusts his angle, jerks him off faster. Klaus can feel Diego’s dick on every downstroke, the tips touching.

“Please,” he says, pleading, impatient, finds he can’t shut up, “Diego, please, make me come, come on, please, you gotta- don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t you dare stop, _please_ -”

And Diego won’t stop looking at him, something like awe on his face, open and almost shocked. Klaus has to shut his eyes then, feels his entire body tense up, tries to pull them closer together, because he’s about to come, right now, he can’t hold on any longer, Diego is going to make him come- and then he _does_ , all over Diego’s hand and his stomach. His hips shudder up into it, and he wants it to never end, to coast on this feeling forever.

When he comes down from it, he’s all wrapped up in Diego, who’s still hard and panting, clinging to him, so he digs in his nails and pushes his hips up. He leans up to lick into Diego’s mouth, tries to make it good. Diego lets himself be kissed, patient only for so long before it turns hungry. Klaus pulls away from him, and Diego moans, chases his mouth. Klaus wonders if he’ll say _please_ , too, puts his hands everywhere he can reach, one sneaking down to close over Diego’s dick.

He says it himself instead, “Please,” moaned into Diego’s neck, bites him lightly, kisses up on him.

Diego’s moaning, shifts his weight, fucks into his hand. His lips slip over Klaus’ cheek, smearing kisses into his neck, like he’s trying but can’t quite manage. Klaus loosens his grip, just to hear the frustrated noises Diego makes, low and whining, and then his teeth are pressed to Klaus’ shoulder, and he moans, mouth working against his skin.

“Come on then,” Klaus says, kisses his temple, cards his free hand through Diego’s hair.

“Please,” Diego says, stutters on the _puh_ sound, only once, and then he’s coming, hot between them, keeps pushing into Klaus’ fist through it, and then a few more times after it’s done, even when it makes him shudder from oversensitivity.

Diego keeps his face tucked against Klaus’ neck, keeps shivering, so Klaus wipes his hand on the sheets and pulls him down. They’re pressed together, and he can feel Diego’s pulse hammering. He waits for it to slow, for their breathing to even out; hugs him close, takes his weight for a while.

Eventually, Diego does shift off him a little, lazy and uncoordinated. He cups Klaus’ face, brushes his thumb back and forth slowly, over the highest point of his cheekbone.

“Are you crying?” he asks. He sounds half asleep, mumbles into Klaus’ shoulder.

Klaus’ neck is wet. He keeps staring at the ceiling. “Are you?”

Diego yawns. “Nah.”

Klaus’ hands are cold. He’s trailing his fingers over Diego’s back lightly, the skin almost feverish in comparison. It’s really nice, this post-coital blissed out feeling. The bed is small, but it could be cozy. Diego’s very warm, and that could be cozy, as well, except-

 _Nope_ , Klaus thinks, _nope nope no_. He wriggles, fishes around on the floor. He snags a shirt - it’s not even leather - and tries to wipe himself off. It’s pretty useless, the come already mostly dried. _Gross_. Diego doesn’t even move all his limbs off, which is really rude. Everything is very horrible. The pillow is wet under him, because he never dried his hair properly, and it’s getting cold with the sweat cooling on his body. They stick together everywhere they’re touching, and the sheets are messed up and damp under them.

“Okay, off,” Klaus says when he can’t take it anymore, and tries to push away Diego’s leg. “Here,” he adds, dropping the shirt on him.

Diego groans unhappily, but he does wipe himself off. Klaus sits up, tries to get the sheets off, but they are hopelessly tangled and Diego isn’t really cooperating. He gives up and puts his head between his knees instead. 

“Well, fuck,” he says, quietly and mostly to himself.

“What, are you freaking out?”

When Klaus doesn’t answer immediately, he sits up, so they’re hip to hip. Klaus has no idea how they made it work; the bed is tiny. He’s so tired and jittery, like his skin is going to come apart at the seams or he’s going to pass out. Memories keep flashing in his mind, memories that aren’t actually his, and it’s disorienting and distracting. He’d give anything to not have to feel like this. The problem is he knows exactly what would make it stop, which coincidentally is also the only thing he can’t have.

He’s been quiet for too long, swallows around the lump in his throat. “Are _you_ gonna freak out?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

“Okay.” It’s not really, but least it’s honest. “So. That happened.”

Diego lets out this really long, put-upon groan, the same noise he’s always made even as kids, when Klaus bugged him into doing something stupid. Klaus doesn’t need to pick up his head to know he’s rubbing his hands over his face.

“Okay,” he hears him grumble. “So we’re doing this.”

That’s a frankly alarming statement, so Klaus does look up after all. “What? What are we doing? I’m not even doing anything.”

“Come on,” Diego says, instead of explaining literally anything.

He pushes Klaus off the bed and climbs out after him, then keeps pushing him, out of the room and back into the bathroom, where this whole thing started. He lets himself be hustled into the bathtub, and then Diego climbs in behind him and closes the curtain. He fiddles with the temperature for a bit, then shoves Klaus under the spray. It’s warm, and getting warmer.

“Okay,” Klaus says, turning back around. “What the hell are you doing?”

For some reason he’s not prepared for what he sees: Diego, completely naked, just standing there behind him in the tub. There’s water on his chest and dripping from his hair. His lashes are wet, and he looks- well, he looks like he just rolled out of bed after-

It’s just Diego. They grew up together. It’s the same Diego who always cheated at cards, who loved comic books. Diego, who refused to eat green beans, who was scared of cats, who snuck out to buy a VHS of Dirty Dancing and secretly watched it every night for a week straight. Diego, who would sit with their mother and do nothing but look at the same paintings every evening. Diego, who taught him how to slide down the hallway in socks. Diego, who suddenly became cool when they hit puberty. Diego, who- who he’s known for their entire childhood. It’s just Diego, his dumb brother.

But it’s also- it’s also _Diego_ , with all the scars and those dark eyes, Diego, who apparently likes it when-

But Klaus doesn’t know what Diego likes in bed, not really, not after just one time. That _other_ Diego, though, he liked it hard and fast, loved it dirty. He liked bruising Klaus up - the _other_ Klaus; up his thighs and around the neck especially. He loved name calling, too, _you greedy piece of shit_ , and worse. Sometimes he spoke Spanish, and none of it nice, either. For some reason, thinking about that stings worse than the rest, because _this_ Diego grew up learning how to speak French, reading Ancient Greek and Latin. He doesn’t speak Spanish; or at least, not as far as Klaus knows.

Their other selves, they kept crashing into each other like they were out for maximum damage. Nothing between them was ever genuine, or safe; but it _had_ been easy. Klaus knew exactly how to provoke Diego, which buttons to push; did it on purpose. He’d loved to taunt him, to wind him up like a toy, just to see what would happen, which way Diego would go. 

The water is really hot now, warming him up, and _this_ Diego is still just standing there, outside of the spray. He’s got goosebumps all over, and water is dripping onto his shoulders; the bandage is slowly soaking through. He’s just watching Klaus, waiting for something. Klaus thinks that he looks really beautiful, and it’s twisting everything up inside him.

Diego is really close now.

“Hey,” Klaus says faintly, backs away minutely. There isn’t really anywhere to go. 

Diego doesn’t say anything. He just kisses Klaus, very softly. It’s not even sexual, just a closed mouthed, slow thing, but something about it - maybe it’s that they’re both naked and wet, or that the bathroom is steaming up - immediately sends a flush all the way down his chest. He doesn’t remember what he was upset about a moment ago. Diego’s hands are on his hips, slide over his skin. Somehow, without any real input from Klaus, it turns into a hug.

Diego turns his head into the crook of Klaus’ neck. “Which part fucked you up so bad?”

Diego keeps asking him that, and it’s- unfair, to ask it now, when Klaus has no defences left and nowhere to go. “I don’t know. That it was so good?”

“Yeah, that’s kinda fucked up,” Diego says easily, like it’s not a big deal.

“I think,” Klaus starts, doesn’t know if he can finish.

Diego hums, so goddamn patient with him. He starts rubbing Klaus’ back, encouraging almost. Klaus has the sudden and horrible realization that Diego is settling in to wait him out on this, like he’s prepared to stay in the shower and turn into a raisin if he has to.

“I think- are you always this mellow after?

“I’m really fucking tired, sue me.” Diego pushes away a little, lathers up his hands. “You think what?”

He doesn’t look at Klaus, just kind of idly soaps up his chest, scrubs at his stomach. That’s unfair, too, because it’s very distracting, but it also makes it easier to say, “I think I want to do that again.”

Diego pauses, glances up finally. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“That’s what I said, right? Come on, hurry up, I’m ready to pass out.”

So Klaus hurries up, or at least he tries to. But instead of reaching for the soap, he takes Diego’s wrist and pulls him closer. It’s surreal, that this already feels familiar: that he knows how his brother likes to kiss. He can’t believe that he’s allowed this, that they’re doing this; that he’s putting his mouth on Diego’s and Diego just _lets_ him. That it’s not the first time. That they’re going to do it _again._  

“I didn’t think you meant right now,” Diego murmurs.

Klaus didn’t think so either, but now that they’re kissing it does seem like a good idea. His libido has been finicky for a while now, first with the drugs, then the withdrawal; the general trauma. But Diego is hard, and he gets Klaus there too, easy. It’s really good like this, the wet slide of their bodies, the heat from the water, everything slow and sweet. Diego keeps looking him in the eyes, keeps making soft noises that are almost drowned out by the shower. The entire time, Klaus can’t believe they’re doing this, except he couldn’t come up with this in his wildest drug induced dreams.

They don't last too long. After, bone deep exhaustion settles in, like he'll sleep and never wake up. His head feels like it's full of cotton, and the cut on his forehead is pulsing. Diego hands him towels, makes him dry off, takes care of him. He checks the hallway and takes them into Klaus’ room, gets them into bed without turning on the lights. Klaus lets Diego push him around until he’s happy with how they’re squeezed into the tiny space, just an inch or so between them. Everything is warm and quiet and dark, and all messed up.

Klaus can’t stand not touching Diego after all this, so he pulls them together, puts an arm around his brother. Diego doesn’t move for a few moments - like fucking around is okay but not touching while they sleep - then with a sigh, he goes all loose and soft, turns his body into it.

“Are you-” Klaus hesitates. “Are you _cuddling?_ ”

“I’m trying,” Diego says, enunciating very clearly for someone whose mouth is smushed against Klaus’ neck, “to _sleep_. Don’t stop.”

“What?” Klaus asks, puzzled.

Diego turns his head, looks up at Klaus with one half closed eye. He shrugs a little under Klaus’ hand, where he’d been trailing his fingertips over Diego’s back absentmindedly. “Feels nice.”

“Oh,” is all Klaus can think to say. 

Diego squeezes his hip, rubs his stubble into Klaus’ shoulder. “You good?”

“Yeah,” Klaus says, trying to make it true. He goes back to tracing patterns onto Diego’s skin. “I’m good.”

**Author's Note:**

> SSC - Safe, Sane & Consensual  
> 'The Karate Kid' - According to YouTube, a thing people do with butterfly knives.  
> Diego watching Dirty Dancing - The hill I'm willing to die on.
> 
> Come hang out? General/porn-ish TUA discord: https://discord.gg/SFZ5DEM (link open indefinitely) or yell at me on [tumblr](https://natcat-is-trying.tumblr.com) i s'pose?


End file.
